I could notice.
I could explain.
I could push when I believed the risk of waiting was greater than the risk of being wrong.
And then I had to remember that Finn was her son.
“I don’t want this to become the story where I was right and you were wrong,” I told her.
Lydia gave me a tired look.
“You were right.”
“That’s not the important part.”
“What is?”
I looked at Finn.
“You took him in.”
She followed my eyes.
After a moment, she nodded.
That became the line we held onto.
Not who noticed first.
Not who resisted.
Not who had medical experience.
We took him in.
The next day brought more teaching than any of us thought our brains could hold.
Finn was improving, but the family had entered a world full of numbers and routines that had not existed for us forty-eight hours earlier.
